


Mascot

by philote_auctor



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-23
Updated: 2013-12-23
Packaged: 2018-01-05 15:48:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1095785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/philote_auctor/pseuds/philote_auctor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>"And every good team needs a mascot.” She bites her tongue to keep in the thought that comes on its heels—that every good family needs a pet.</i>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p> In which Skye adopts an orphaned dog, much to the varying delight and chagrin of her teammates.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mascot

**Author's Note:**

  * For [entwashian](https://archiveofourown.org/users/entwashian/gifts).



oOo

The asset is dead when they get there.

Skye thinks she should be getting used to this by now, to the danger and the abrupt shifts in missions and the mortality rate of the circle she now operates in. But there’s always something new. That’s half the appeal of this life, she supposes. Excitement and challenges.

But then there’s the smell of a three-day old corpse. Olivia White. Appeared on SHIELD’s radar a week ago after a video documenting her telekinetic power was posted online. Skye traced it herself. The woman was about her age, with a similar build and hairstyle. Pretty and vibrant and clearly in over her head.

Now she’s got a stain of dried blood spread beneath her long brown hair.

Ward is directing people, crime scene specialists and local cops, all treating Olivia’s body like a specimen, and Skye has to step away.

She slips out the back door into the small fenced yard and draws deep breaths of the fresh air. That’s when she hears it.

It’s a little sound, so soft at first that she almost thinks she imagined it. But her time with SHIELD has taught her not to ignore anything her mind latches onto. She turns back toward the house, listening. It comes again, and what she’d thought was a squeak is more of a whine. A whimper, really.

She finds the source cowering in the shadows under the porch. “Hi, little guy,” she calls softly, trying to seem non-threatening. It must work, for the puppy ventures a few more steps into the light. And it is clearly a puppy with the baby cuteness, a short muzzle and big ears and feet it hasn’t grown into yet. It’s tiny with a disproportionately long body. She’s sure there’s a proper term, but all she can think of is ‘wiener dog.’ It is mostly black with a brownish tan color on its face and feet, running down its chest. 

She eyes the little bone-shaped tag hanging from it’s collar and reads the biggest line. “Wilbur. Is that your name?”

The puppy whines again, then comes cautiously closer. She holds out her hand and he sniffs delicately at her fingers. She grins at the tickle of puppy whiskers. “Hi, Wilbur. I’m Skye.”

The poor thing is clearly traumatized. He cries a bit more, but appears to crave her attention. It isn’t long before Wilbur is in her arms, snuffling at her hair. She cuddles him close and speaks softly to him.

The moment is interrupted by the arrival of Ward, who comes banging through the back door. “Skye?” he calls in frustration. 

Wilbur growls softly, low in his chest. “Yeah, I have that reaction to him sometimes, too,” Skye commiserates.

Ward catches sight of her and comes closer. “I wish you’d stop wandering off. What is that?”

She does not wander off. “Well, Agent Ward, this is commonly called a dog.”

He scowls. “What are you doing with it?”

She resists the urge to be flippant again, even though he does make it so easy. “He’s got Olivia’s name and number on his ID tag.”

Ward sighs, a truly weary sound. “All right. I’ll make sure someone calls animal control.”

Skye gasps and quickly covers Wilbur’s long earflaps. “You will not!” she whispers harshly.

“Someone has to,” he responds in kind, then shakes his head at himself. “Why are we whispering?”

“He can hear you!”

“It’s a dog!”

“It is a he, and his name is Wilbur.”

“What kind of name is that? Who calls their dog ‘Wilbur’?”

Skye gives him a disgusted look and turns her attention back to the dog. “Don’t listen to him. He’s just jealous of your cuteness.”

“I am not…” he trails off, taking what is clearly meant to be a calming breath. “Look, Skye, someone has to call. He has to be taken care of.”

“Of course he does. That’s why we’ll have to take him.”

“We can’t!”

“Why not? We have to, in fact. He could have witnessed the murder.”

“He’s a dog!”

“Yes, we’ve established that.” She steps closer and makes a valiant attempt at dropping the attitude. “Please, Ward. He’s an orphan; we can’t just turn him over. He could end up sick in a shelter, or worse.”

He stares at her for a long moment. “We’re SHIELD agents, not a foster family.”

“Of course. Oh, and we’re gonna have to stop by a pet store.”

“No. Did you hear me? Skye, I said –”

She doesn’t hear the rest, because she’s already through the gate and halfway to the van, warm puppy snuggled securely in her arms.

oOo

“That’s not a telekinetic,” Coulson states as she gets out of the van with Wilbur in her arms.

“Well, not that we know of,” she says lightly. She knows Ward has been in touch with him already, and she’s ready to make her case. “But he is a sweetheart. And every good team needs a mascot.” She bites her tongue to keep in the thought that comes on its heels—that every good family needs a pet. She’s surprised by it and by the emotion it stirs within her.

Ward somehow manages to slam the van door, even with his arms full of bags. “I hope the company credit card is paid up.” He then appears to realize that he’s glowering at his boss and takes it down a few notches. He throws in a ‘sir’ for good measure and marches onto the plane.

Coulson can be hard to read at times, but right now he seems honestly amused. “You got him to stop at a pet store?”

“He’ll never admit it, but I think it was Wilbur’s whimpering that did him in.” She raises the puppy higher and adjusts his angle, helpfully displaying the big brown eyes. Wilbur’s tail thumps against her side as it wags.

“Is he plane-trained?”

“I kind of doubt he’s ever been on a plane,” she hedges. “But Ward’s got a big box of those puppy training pads, so we’re good.”

Coulson gives her that look he gets when he thinks she’s far more naïve than she thinks she is. Still, he raises a hand slowly, palm up. He presents it to Wilbur, who sniffs at it delicately for a moment before a long pink tongue darts out to taste. Soon Coulson’s hand is practically dripping in puppy saliva, but he doesn’t seem to mind. “And you think he’s a witness?”

“Possibly. At the very least, he was traumatized. And he’s alone.”

“You’re responsible for him.”

“Of course.” It’s the permission she was hoping for. She buries her grin in the puppy’s fur and heads aboard.

oOo

She finds Fitz and Simmons in the lounge area. They’re in the midst of one of their intense overlapping conversations of which she understands very little.

“A dachshund!” Fitz exclaims with delight, jumping up when he catches sight of them. “Where did you get him?”

He too is clearly familiar with dogs, because he follows Coulson’s example of offering his hand palm first. Soon he is scratching those long ears, his face inches from Wilbur’s and practically cooing as Wilbur enthusiastically licks his nose.

“Say, my name is Wilbur.” Skye struggles to hold onto him as his whole body wiggles along with his tail. “Here Fitz, you can hold him.” As the scientist carefully cradles the excited puppy she adds, “He belonged to Olivia White.”

“Oh, poor wee thing,” Fitz sympathizes, nuzzling Wilbur’s head.

Simmons has been hanging back, looking a bit uncomfortable. “Was he alone with her body for days? How awful.” Still, she watches with a bit of a grimace as the nose-licking resumes.

“Well we found him in the yard, but there was a doggie door, so he could have been in and out. I fed him and he’s had plenty of water and seems okay, but I was hoping you’d check him over.”

Simmons shakes her head. “Oh, I’m no veterinarian.”

“No, but you serve as our doctor.”

“I’m not really a dog person,” she finally admits.

Fitz stares at her, betrayed. “How did I not know that?”

“It’s never come up I suppose.”

Skye glances between them, then steps over to Simmons and places a hand on her back, encouraging her to step closer. “Don’t think of him as a dog. Think of him as a cute baby who happens to be furry.”

“Oh, I’m not that good with infants either.”

Fitz snorts, causing Wilbur to look up at him curiously and sniff at his face. “Now that I knew.”

There’s a story there, and Skye wants it at some point. But right now, she wants Wilbur to have a home here, and that means being comfortable with her teammates. “Not helping,” she hisses at Fitz. “Come on, just give him a try,” she cajoles Simmons.

Simmons takes a deep breath, then puts on a determined face and raises a hand to pet Wilbur. She goes over handed though, aiming for his head with too quick a movement, and Wilbur jerks back against Fitz. Simmons jerks back too, into Skye.

“No, hey; it’s okay. You just have to let him smell you first. Here.” Skye takes her hand, keeping it in her own and turning them both palm-up to extend. Fitz takes a step closer as Wilbur stretches out to sniff.

It only takes a moment for a smile to break through. “His whiskers tickle.”

“See? He likes you.”

Simmons relaxes ever so slightly. Then she frowns. “Are those flecks of dried blood on his nails?”

oOo

It takes all three of them to give Wilbur an exam, as Simmons is still jumpy and Wilbur does not care for either the cold lab table or being held still. Skye resorts to the bag of puppy training treats she made Ward buy to keep him preoccupied.

He seems healthy, but there is dried blood. Most of it is a match to Olivia. But there’s another sample as well, an unidentified male.

oOo

It quickly becomes clear that no, Wilbur is not plane-trained. Skye takes to walking around with cleaner and paper towels, her hacking skills going to utter waste as she Googles puppy training tips. She can’t figure out why he won’t use the pads, why in fact he prefers to gnaw on them.

Though it is also clear that the pup has a voracious appetite, and not just for actual food. He’ll try anything. If it fits in his mouth he’s likely to swallow it; if not he’ll lick or chew on it. He’s banned from the lab for this reason; Skye had not allowed Fitz’s crestfallen expression to sway her on that. No telling what he might ingest in there.

And he loves people food. Any time any of them are eating, they are sure to glance down and find Wilbur looking up at them with hopeful eyes.

One day Skye is lounging on the couch with her phone, skimming new posts for anything of interest to the team, when Ward walks by with a half-eaten sandwich in hand. Wilbur is literally on his heels, tail wagging.

“No,” Ward tells him firmly. Wilbur just places his front paws on Ward’s leg and turns up the plaintive expression.

Skye smirks. “How can you resist that face?”

“Aren’t you supposed to be taking care of him? He’s clearly starving.”

She snorts. “He is not. He just ate his own dinner and a good chunk of mine.”

Ward looks at the dog. “See? You’re not hungry.” He puts the last of the sandwich in his mouth. Wilbur whines, then hangs his head and comes over to Skye to be petted. 

“He’s always hungry,” she says as she pulls him into her lap. She smiles at him, and suddenly has a lightbulb moment. “Of course. Wilbur.”

Wilbur thumps his tail. Clearly he is a genius who can follow her train of thought. He’s probably wondering what took her so long.

Ward is a different story. “What’s he done now?”

“Nothing. I finally get why she named him Wilbur. Because of his eating habits. He’s a pig. Get it? Some pig?” Ward just stares at her blankly, so she elaborates. “Charlotte’s Web?”

“Who’s Charlotte?”

“You never read Charlotte’s Web? What kind of –” She cuts herself off before she can finish asking what sort of childhood he had. It would have been a casual statement, a throwaway thought without implication on her part, but she can’t say it. Not with what little she knows about his past. “It’s a children’s book,” she finishes lamely. “There’s a pig named Wilbur.”

Of course, he chooses now to be perceptive. “ I didn’t do a lot of reading outside of school,” he says shortly.

He leaves, and she cuddles Wilbur close. “I certainly don’t have any business judging his childhood,” she confides to the dog. Especially since the only reason she’d read the book was because the girl who’d had the bed in the state home before her had left it behind.

Wilbur looks earnestly into her eyes and then gives a little puppy burp in her face. She wrinkles her nose. “But you really are some pig.”

oOo

It’s a week before they catch the guy they suspect of killing Olivia.

Ward brings him aboard the plane. The man’s hands are cuffed behind him as he’s lead down the hallway towards the very room Skye was locked into when they first interrogated her.

Wilbur comes running to greet her. He stops midstride when he catches sight of the suspect. His tail drops briefly. Then his demeanor changes so abruptly that Skye feels her heart stutter. His ears flatten and the fur on his back stands straight up from his neck all the way down to his tail. He bares his teeth as he growls. 

Then he moves, placing himself squarely in front of Skye. The growl gives way to a bark shockingly deep for such a small animal, more aggressive than Skye would have thought him capable of.

“Get that thing away from me,” the man insists.

“Mr. Doyle, I think you’ve just been positively identified,” Coulson says. He gestures for Ward to move on, then pointedly takes in Wilbur’s protective position. “Good boy.”

As they disappear from sight, Skye bends down cautiously. She needn’t have worried; Wilbur immediately calms down for her. He’s trembling when she picks him up, and she hugs him close. “Very good boy,” she whispers into his fur.

oOo

The DNA matches the sample taken off Wilbur. Ward points out that they hadn’t needed the dog to catch him, but is forced to admit that the extra evidence is nice.

oOo

It’s May who surprises Skye one day with a supply she hadn’t originally bought.

“I didn’t want to confine him,” she frets, eying the pet carrier. It’s just a glorified cage, really.

“I know,” May says in that calm, matter-of-fact way of hers. “But this is what you need to train him. Taking care of him is about teaching boundaries. It isn’t cruel; it’s how you love him.”

It works of course; though May has to physically restrain both Skye and Fitz when Wilbur cries for attention. But soon he learns to potty only in his pre-approved places. And he comes to adore May, rolling over submissively for a belly rub whenever he sees her.

oOo

And Wilbur grows. 

It’s a gradual thing, not something Skye really notices as she’s with him every day. It’s when she looks back at the pictures now eating up her phone storage space that it really becomes apparent.

Routines settle into place. Their lives are still crazy, their job unpredictable, no telling where in the world the plane may be on any given day. But there’s always an excited dog pacing near the hanger door when they touch down and running feet and a happy bark to greet them when they return.

Wilbur has the run of the plane now. He’s highly social though, and is usually found near at least one of them. Skye and Fitz spend much of their free time running around or sitting on the floor like children at play with a happy Wilbur.

In quieter moments, whenever Simmons manages to sit down and relax, Wilbur can usually be found curled up beside her. Soon, she’s as likely to be cuddling him as Fitz is.

Sometimes Wilbur seems to disappear for chunks of time. But Skye went searching for him once, and she found him in Coulson’s office perched attentively as the older agent talked quietly to him. Knowing from personal experience that the dachshund is a good confidante, she leaves them be.

In fact there is only one team member Wilbur hasn’t completely won over—and the dog knows it. Ward has long since stopped complaining aloud. But he doesn’t play with Wilbur, doesn’t pet him or slip him treats. It’s like he refuses to get attached.

But Wilbur doesn’t give up. Shadowing Ward is one of his favorite games. He brings toys to drop at his feet and gently nudges him with his nose. He is persistent. Skye has no doubt that he’ll win him over in the end.

oOo  
Wilbur has his own bed, but it is rare to find him in it. Especially at night, he prefers to snuggle. He usually sleeps with Skye, unless he deems someone else needs him more on a given night.

It is a Thursday after a particularly hard mission when Wilbur jumps down from Skye’s bed a little before midnight. She’s long since taken to leaving the door cracked so he can wander. She just rolls over onto the warm spot he left behind and goes back to sleep.

She is awakened a few sleepy minutes later by a commotion, a high-pitched half yelp-half bark, and what she could swear is the sound of a gun cocking. She’s out of bed and in the main room before she’s fully awake, Fitz and Simmons right behind her as she stumbles towards Ward’s room with her heart pounding.

She slaps her palm on the switch to flood the little area with light. What she sees then will be burned into her brain for the next few nights; Ward wide-eyed and half-panicked with his pistol out and pointed toward the end of his bed where Wilbur is cowering.

“What are you doing?” she screeches as Wilbur takes a flying leap off the mattress and into her arms. Fitz has to steady her so they don’t all go down in a heap, but that would certainly be preferable to bullets.

“I…he…” Ward shuts his eyes and shakes his head, finally lowering the gun. “I was asleep. He came out of nowhere; all of a sudden something lands on my bed…he just startled me.” His breathing it still ragged; he’s covered in a sheen of sweat. She even thinks she sees his hands shaking slightly as he clicks on the safety and sets the gun to the side.

“Remind me never to wake you,” Fitz says a bit harshly, accent thick with lingering fear as he pets Wilbur’s head. Wilbur himself has stopped trembling and is gazing at Ward with sad puppy eyes.

It is Simmons who asks Ward, “Are you all right?”

He, of course, brushes it off. “Sure. Of course. I’m sorry.”

Nightmares, Skye thinks. They all get them, but the rest of them tend to talk to each other. Ward is so trapped in his role as protector that he can’t seem to let them in. She can’t say that, of course. He’d just get defensive and clam up even more. “Dude, you need to relax,” she says instead.

“I said I was sorry,” he snaps, but then his eyes lock onto Wilbur, meeting the puppy dog gaze head on. Wilbur whines, and Ward visibly deflates. “I’m sorry. I wouldn’t hurt him,” he says much more softly.

“I know. And so does he…or he wouldn’t be trying so hard to be your friend.”

“Maybe you should give him a chance,” Simmons throws in with a ghost of a smile.

oOo

The next time they have a debriefing after a difficult mission, Wilbur leaves Skye’s lap to venture over to Ward. He jumps up beside him on the couch and settles in close, laying his head on the man’s thigh. Ward’s concentration breaks briefly from the screen, and he considers the dog. After a long moment, he reaches down to pat Wilbur on the head. 

Skye resists doing a victory dance, but only because it would interrupt Coulson’s train of thought. She needn’t have worried about that; when she catches his gaze, the older agent’s eyes are sparkling with the same sentiment.

oOo

A few weeks later when Director Fury comes aboard, he steps on a squeaky toy.

Skye winces. Fitz and Simmons on either side of her do the same. The toy lets out a long, indignant squawk as the weight is removed. Fury stares at it, and they all stare at him.

Summoned by the sound, Wilbur comes barreling down the hallway. He skids to a stop, taken aback by the imposing stranger. A growl rumbles deep in his throat.

Fury just cocks an eyebrow at Coulson. “I thought I said no pets.”

“Actually sir, I believe you said ‘no fish tank.’”

Wilbur circles the man cautiously, stepping forward to sniff at his pant leg. As soon as the Director’s attention returns to him, he jumps backwards with a warning bark.

Coulson seems unconcerned. “Clearly, not a fish.”

“Not exactly military-trained, either,” Fury says dubiously.

Coulson shrugs. “No. But he’s a perfect fit for my team.”

Meanwhile May is casually pushing the other scattered toys into less obtrusive spots, and Ward goes to scoop Wilbur up in his arms when the dog looks to be considering peeing on the Director’s shoes. Fury glances around at them and huffs. “Next thing you know, you’ll want a badge for him.”

“No need.” Coulson ushers the man forward, but glances directly back at Skye as he adds, “He’s less official, and more family.”

Skye blinks against her suddenly burning eyes, but ducks her head to hide her smile.

The Ward is there, thrusting Wilbur into her arms, and Fitz and Simmons have lit up on either side of her. “A new tag,” Simmons suggests.

Fitz is excited. “Shaped like a traditional American police badge, perhaps? Scaled appropriately, of course.”

“We can engrave the letters S-H-I-E-L-D on the back. He might need a new collar to go with it.”

Ward is shaking his head. “No. No way.”

The two scientists act like they don’t even hear him, already stepping away to head for the lab. Skye smirks lightly. “You remember the last time you said no? And look how well that turned out.” She hefts Wilbur higher and nuzzles his head.

Ward heaves a put-upon sigh. “You’re all hopeless.”

“Good thing we’ve got each other, then.”

Wilbur barks his agreement, and that settles that.

oOo

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: The characters and situations of _Marvel’s Agents of S.H.IE.L.D._ do not belong to me. I make no money from this story.


End file.
